


Waking Memory

by Kaiyou



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon, M/M, Masturbation, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean Havoc wakes with Roy Mustang in his arms, it isn't what he expected. But then again, reality rarely is, as his walk down memory lane reminds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElfieRae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfieRae/gifts).



> for ElfieRae, and betaed by her. Merry Christmas :)

Jean Havoc was having the most delicious dream. It was about someone warm and firm, wrapped up in his arms and tangled up in his legs. They were close, and hot, and he rocked forward to feel the friction. 

The person in his arms grunted.

That was - unexpected.

He opened his eyes.

Oh high holy hells. Colonel Roy Mustang was wrapped in his arms, and he did not exactly look happy.

“Mind telling me what’s going on here, 2nd Lieutenant?” Mustang said, irritation written in every syllable. 

“Ah, yes sir,” Havoc said, trying to remember.

....

It started with fire, obviously enough.

Enemy fire. A situation where he and Breda had been locked down tight by enemy soldiers, running out of ammo in a dark corner of an Ishvalan town. They’d given as good as they got, of course - more than given it - but the red-eyed bastards had them outnumbered and outgunned. In the end, they both knew what the situation added up to. Jean had toyed with the idea of just running out from behind his cover and spraying bullets everywhere to go out with a blaze of glory.

That wasn’t really his style, though.

Breda might’ve done it. But it’d be just as crazy.

They’d grinned at each other, and Havoc had been glad that if he had to go, he’d be going beside one of his best buds.

Then the fire had arched overhead, and in the place of gunfire he heard the sound of screams cut mercifully short.

Jean looked at Breda in shock before things clicked. 

Alchemy.

The State Alchemists were legends. Terrifying legends, for the most part. Technically, they should be only terrifying to the Ishvalans or other enemies of the state. Jean had heard stories, though, that said that some of the State Alchemists got messy with friendly fire. Hopefully this alchimist wasn’t one of them.

Someone had climbed up on the rubble they’d been hiding behind. Jean had looked up. Outlined against the haze of fire and the stars of the night sky had been a man.

That man, Havoc knew, had been Roy Mustang. 

Even in memory he refused to wax poetic about the sight of him, but it was burned into his mind anyways. From the beginning he’d known that Roy Mustang was like a force of nature, barely constrained by a swirling blue coat and white gloves. The eyes, though. The eyes had pierced him. He’d wondered for a second if he and Breda were going to be casualties, if the man saw them as soldiers and not as just more bodies to feed the fire.

Then Mustang had spoken.

“Nice to see you soldiers,” he’d said, nodding swiftly. “Glad you survived.”

And he was gone.

...

Havoc had figured that would be the last he saw of the guy. He’d learned his name. The Flame Alchemist. They said he was ruthless and precise, never showing hesitation. Ironically he wasn’t a hothead like the Crimson Alchemist, and he wasn’t one for showing off. He didn’t need to be. 

Jean had assumed that the night when he’d rescued them would be just another war story he’d tell his kids, back when he was home, retired from the military, and running the store. He’d doubted that the man even knew his name.

That had changed when he and Breda had been transferred to a unit under Mustang’s command. It was interesting, more challenging. 

Worse though. Worse because of the children.

He could remember one time when they’d chased enemy insurgents into a cluster of hovels, shacks put together with sheet metal lumber and wire. Mustang had stepped forward to take care of business. Before he’d been able to snap his fingers, a woman had run out, carrying a baby, begging for mercy.

Havoc had seen the shock on the Colonel’s face. He’d seen it morph into steely resolve as Mustang sent fire into the entire mass of buildings, ashing them all in an instant. The woman and her bundle were charcoal.

Well, not quite. The bundle in the woman’s arms was metal. Remnants of some explosive, possibly. The irony of sending a suicide bomber into the arms of the Flame Alchemist wasn’t lost on Havoc. 

Neither was the fact that some of the corpses they found in the rubble had belonged to real children.

He’d also seen the way Mustang’s back had slumped just a little that night as he went into his tent. Hughes had been there, squeezing his shoulder. It could’ve been passed off as nothing more than weariness. It had been a long night.

For Havoc, though, it was a good reminder that the man who could command flame with a snap of his fingers was just as human as they were. The guilt had weighed heavy on him that night, as he took a shower and tried to wash away the greasy residue of ashes and smoke that smelled like burned flesh. He’d hated this war. Hated that he didn’t understand it, that things had gotten to this point. It wasn’t about winning or losing. Wasn’t about the good guys and the bad guys. It was all just messy, and warped, and he was as covered in blood as the men who’d love to kill him. Men, and women.

Hell, maybe next time it would be a child with a bomb.

Being under Mustang’s command had brought him closer to the truth of the war than any of his previous fighting, and he’d hated the knowledge he’d gained. 

Knowing the Alchemist felt the weight as much as he did, though - that had made all the difference. It wasn’t the glory that had made him decide he’d follow Mustang to hell and back, or even just to hell. It was the look of shock, the breath of hesitation, the weight he’d seen on the shoulders of the man he called his chief.

He’d wanted to help him carry that weight. 

Havoc had known that night that there was no way he’d be able to get out of the war clean. That when he did have children, that the bodies of curled up toddlers charred to a crisp would always be behind his eyes when he tucked them into bed at night. That was just a fact. He was one of the monsters now. 

But at least Mustang gave him a way to do that with something approaching honor.

...

“I believe I asked you a question,” Roy said, staring at him from less than a foot away. 

Havoc’s mind blanked, still sleep-scrambled.

A long-suffering sigh tore through the other man’s mouth. “Nevermind. I think I remember the bare bones at least. Mind unwrapping your arm from my body?”

“Ah, yes sir,” Havoc said, pulling back swiftly. He caught the way his commander’s lips twitched as he rolled off of the bed, looking around before heading towards what was most likely to be the bathroom. Roy’s hair was messed up from sleep. His clothes were wrinkled. Those millitary pants, though -

Havoc cursed under his breath and stared down at his cock, gaze trying to bore through layers of sheets and clothing to tell it to behave. The last thing he needed to be doing was getting hard because of his commander’s ass.

Well, harder.

...

That little obsession had started, innocently enough, because of another shower.

Havoc had been bored one night in the group showers he shared with the rest of the men. No one else had been there, and he had figured everyone else was in bed asleep by then. It wasn’t like he got a lot of opportunities to jack off in the room he shared with the other men. The war hadn’t exactly lent itself to relationships with girls, either, though it seemed like most of the men had sweethearts waiting at home. Some had several. Havoc hadn’t been one of those men.

Still, a guy had needs.

He’d looked around the tiled room, satisfied that he wouldn’t be interrupted, and turned to make sure his ass was toward the door just to try and hide what he was doing if someone happened to walk in. He could still remember the cool of the showerhead bar as he’d wrapped one hand around it, the other wrapped around his cock, pulling at it as he thought about something amorphous. Boobs and asses, maybe. A mouth, parted, lips wrapping around him. Dark eyes looking up. 

That was when he’d heard the singing. 

It hadn’t mattered that he’d been turned to hide what he’d been doing then, because he’d just turned, cock in hand, and gasped when he saw Mustang, naked all but for a towel around his waist.

Havoc had gasped out the Alchemist’s name. When the other looked him over from head to toe, amusement written all over his face, Havoc realized the name he’d said was the commander’s first name. Jean had turned back around fast enough that his forehead hit the tile at that, completely mortified. 

“Don’t let me stop you from what you’re doing, soldier,” Mustang had said, with what sounded like a smirk. He’d then walked to the next shower area, the one for officers that had just a little more privacy.

Havoc had stopped, though. Stopped because the knowledge that his commander was on the other side of the wall - naked - starting his own shower - had wormed its way into his brain, and he made it a rule not to fantasize about people he knew.

Especially not his commanding officers.

Evidently, though, some rules were made to be broken.

...

That had been before the end of the war.

Havoc had originally intended to try and leave the military soon after the war was ended. Maybe push for some post close to home, where he could find a nice country girl. Someone who’d know what it was to lie down in a field in the evening and watch the fireflies. Someone for whom that would be enough.

He hadn’t counted on Roy Mustang when he’d made those plans.

The Alchemist had come to him and Breda one evening when the other men were gone off somewhere. They’d all known the war was drawing to a close. Some were already celebrating. A few lucky bastards were even able to go home early. 

Mustang had sat them down. Told them that he was being promoted, assigned to the eastern command, and wanted to firm up a team of people under him. He hadn’t gone into the long-range plans - not then. That came later.

When he asked them if they’d be willing to follow him, neither Havoc nor Breda had had to think about it. They both immediately said yes.

...

There was something different about being personally chosen by Colonel Roy Mustang. Well, he figured Mustang had chosen them during the war. Havoc liked to think that he’d observed their competence, seen the way he and Breda worked together as a team. During the war, though, it was still mainly just the pair of them, working together inside of the larger unit. He’d followed Mustang’s orders to the letter, of course. Both of them had. 

But after the war, they were truly a part of his team.

A team that included Riza, and Falman, and eventually Fuery. Others sometimes drifted in and out of the unit, but they were the core.

The real core was Riza and the Colonel. Havoc knew that. It had been obvious to him. The surface truth of their roles as Lieutenant and Colonel overlaid something deeper, something that Havoc figured he could only see because he’d started looking for those moments of humanity in his commander. 

Moments that reminded Havoc that he could be human too.

It was subtle, and always perfectly within the bounds of propriety, but Havoc knew without a doubt that Riza loved Mustang, and Mustang loved her. 

That was ok. Fantasy was just that, after all. 

Reality was better - reality where he could be pushed to be his best by the man in charge of his unit, where he could get away with teasing that man to the edge of perfect irritation and sometimes manage to get teased back. He did the same to Riza and the others, of course. They were his team. They were his family. He didn’t need anything more than that.

...

Well, except for a girlfriend, of course.

Any flights of fancy about half-naked colonels in the shower were only part of his mental reserves. He was still absolutely taken by the turn of a heel in silky stockings, the flounce of a skirt, a coquettish smile half-hidden behind a hat full of ruffles and lace. And of course, the soft, pillowy curves of a woman’s breast that made him want to lie down and go to heaven.

Girls were fascinating.

He didn’t have much luck with them, though. Things always started out well - he was a war hero now, after all, and girls loved that. Strangely enough, though, something always came up. Sometimes it was a rush message that came to him in the middle of dinner out. A mission that sent him away right when things were starting to get serious. Hours and hours of paperwork that had the girl throwing her hands up in despair. It was a cycle that repeated again and again. He’d start to date, talk about how awesome she was at the office, get snapped at by Mustang, and then something would happen to where he found himself dumped.

The tenth time it happened, he’d actually been irritated. He’d been dating the girl for five weeks - five weeks! - and she was perfect. Milky white skin, curly blond hair, a dimpled smile and of course, the most amazing pair of tits. Not that he only liked her for her body of course - he wasn’t that much of a jerk. She was also adorably sweet, and came from a town only a few miles away from where he’d grown up. She was perfect, until Havoc had been called back to the office five days in a row on various critically important errands.

She’d called him at the office and dumped him on the phone. Mustang had been at his desk, and heard the whole thing. When the debacle of a phone call was over, the colonel had looked over with a barely restrained smirk.

“Can’t keep a job and a girlfriend, Lieutenant?” he’d asked.

And finally, Havoc had gotten it through his thick skull enough to suspect that his commander might have something to do with his lackluster love life.

That thought had irritated him enough that he’d actually walked away, mumbling something about a smoke break. He hadn’t smoked indoors back then. No, that came later.

Not much later, though.

Havoc had walked outside into an alcove and pulled out a cigarette, cursing when his lighter failed to catch. 

Then there was a snap, and the end of his cigarette lit up so delicately it took him a minute to remember to suck so that it would catch.

They’d shared a look, then. 

There was a possessiveness in Roy Mustang that Havoc could’ve run out on. He didn’t really understand it. Mustang never laid out exactly what was going on, not in words at least. It felt deeper, somehow, than the normal bond between commanders and underlings.

Havoc had known, even then, that he didn’t have to accept it. All he would’ve had to do was say something. But the thing was, Havoc found, he liked it.

...

Liked it even more when Roy’s eyes would glance over at him when he lit a cigarette in the office. Riza had been annoyed at that, at first. Made sure that he had an ashtray. Gave him cleaning duties once in awhile that she said were related to the smoke.

Riza was easy to get along with, though. He could make her laugh sometimes, and he knew she was beautiful. 

One night they’d gone out undercover and shared drinks and then an easy conversation in their lookout room. They’d talked into the wee hours of the night. At some point Havoc had watched her fall asleep and realized something.

Somewhere along the line, Roy Mustang had become the most important person in his life. And somehow, this woman who trusted him enough to sleep by him while he was armed had become the second.

Breda was in there, somewhere. His parents, too, of course. Honestly, Havoc cared about a lot of people. 

Roy and Riza, though - they were special. 

The door had creaked open just as he reached out to smooth a strand of hair away from Riza’s face. A second later, he had been pointing a gun at his commanding officer.

Roy had smiled, then. It was a tender smile, a smile for her. A smile he didn’t mind Havoc seeing, though.

He’d walked in and murmured about checking on them. They’d laughed softly at how Riza would be pissed that Roy had come out into the field. Not that this was a dangerous assignment. 

Havoc had been happy, that night. He’d figured out his life’s purpose, after all: to serve and protect these two people to the end of the line.

He’d learned, somewhere, in private conversations, exactly what the end of the line was for Roy. It made perfect sense. 

It was enough, and it was good.

...

He’d never really lost that original fantasy. The one where Roy didn’t walk away from him in the shower. The one where he’d come over, pulled Havoc’s shoulder back and pushed him against the wall, and they’d done...

Well, various things. Some of which he wasn’t too specific on in his mind. He’d never actually had sex with another man before, after all. But things that involved skin pressed against skin, involved being able to feel those muscles, taste Roy’s mouth, drive his fingers into the other’s hair and be devoured just as he devoured - lots of things.

It was just fantasy though. 

He’d mused, sometimes, that fantasy might become reality. It was hard to tell, with how Roy looked at him. There was heat and hunger there, but it might have just been because Havoc was his, and Havoc would follow any order. 

The thought of extending that into other activities - well. 

Havoc had imagined, that if they did come together and cross that line, that it would be something like that. Two bodies wrapped up in action and desire.

He should’ve known better.

...

The night before, they’d been out together at some swanky bar where the muckety muck officers liked to hang out. It bored Havoc to tears. The drinks were overpriced and the conversation, for the most part, was boring. All the girls there were looking at men with more pins and stars and metals than he ever hoped to wear on his jacket. Roy had asked him to come along, though, and hanging out with Roy tended to be entertaining, even if Riza wasn’t around. Mustang was wicked evil at charming the ladies that were attached to the men who drove him nuts. His reputation as a ladykiller wasn’t really deserved; he wasn’t actually the type of man who slept around at all. 

The devilish smirk and easy flirtation were just a couple of extra weapons in his arsenal, ones pulled out and used as needed like any other.

The problem had come when a couple of officers new to the area had recognized Roy and struck up a conversation. Havoc could tell right away that something was different. Roy’s guard had gone up almost immediately.

Evidently the men had been with the Colonel during training. 

They asked Roy about some Ishvalan who they’d trained with. Gone on and on about how they’d been right all along, and the war proved it. How they hoped that the desert rat had been wiped out in the war. How it should’ve happened long before then. They were just glad Roy had finally gained the sense to know that the best Ishvalan was a dead Ishvalan, even if he’d been soft at one time.

Roy had been icy cool, smiling and turning their words back on them with practiced ease. He’d dropped little reminders of what exactly he had accomplished during the war, and asked them about their own endeavors. Eventually the men had turned tail and left.

Soon after, Roy had dragged him out of there, and they’d gone to a dive bar where no one really knew them. Roy had looked at him a moment without explaining himself, then proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk.

He was louder when drunk. Snapping at words with an edgy, amused glint in his eye. The people at the bar fell for all of it, of course, charmed and delighted. 

Havoc knew him, though. Knew that the laughter was tinged with despair, the jokes with an air of self-depreciation that was more real than Mustang would ever let on.

If Riza had been there, she probably would’ve knocked some sense into him. Into Havoc, for letting him get like this.

Riza wasn’t there, though.

Havoc pulled them out of the bar before things were too far gone, using Roy’s money to pay for their drinks without any sort of guilt on his part. The colonel was actually holding his liquor fairly well for anyone who didn’t know him. On the walk home he leaned against Havoc and sang, songs shifting from humorous to maudlin as they got closer to Havoc’s apartment.

The thought of taking Roy home like this, of chancing the colonel’s neighbors seeing him - that was unthinkable.

So Havoc did the next best thing. He managed to get them into his apartment and work Roy’s jacket off. He was getting out of it by then, drunk and sleepy. Once the boots were off he’d pushed Roy to go to the bathroom, listening for the sound of puking as he got half undressed himself.

Roy had taken the bed while Havoc was in the bathroom. Jean had figured he’d just sleep on the couch in the other room. He sat on the bed first to make sure Roy was ok, though, and had given in when the colonel pulled him down against the mattress and wrapped his arms around him, face pressed to his chest.

Roy needed this. 

He’d give him this.

He’d give him anything.

It made him ache, to know how human Roy Mustang was under the flames and the suits and the rapier wit.

It made him hold on tight to know that he was one of the lucky ones who could actually see the man beneath the legend.

He’d do anything for him.

Even hold him as he fell asleep.

....

Roy came out of the bathroom and looked at him, pausing a moment before coming over to sit on the bed.

He eyed Havoc critically.

“You shouldn’t sleep in your clothes,” he finally said. “Gets them far too wrinkled.”

Roy reached over and brushed fingers over the fabric of his shirt, frowning in irritation.

Jean chuckled. “Sorry I’m not the clotheshorse you are, sir,” he said.

Grumbling, Roy looked down at his own shirt. The expensive white fabric was creased with wrinkles. The pants were probably just as bad. Mustang tugged at his shirt for a moment, then turned back to smoothing the fabric on Havoc’s chest again.

Not that he minded.

Not that he minded one bit.

When Roys fingertips brushed against a nipple, though, Havoc couldn’t help the slight inhalation.

Mustang glanced up at him with looked like guilt, and pulled back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Reaching out, Havoc grabbed his arm. “It’s ok.”

Roy looked at him. His face was open for the moment, more vulnerable than Havoc thought he’d seen. To Havoc that look said Roy knew that there was a line here, one they’d played at but had never crossed. One that Roy would never actually order him to cross. Roy would order him into battle, into undercover operations that would risk his life and make him have to do things that crossed the line between human and monster, but Roy would never take advantage of this.

This was sacred, no matter how much they danced around it in their games. But it was ok.

“You aren’t ordering me to do anything here, Colonel,” Havoc said. “Roy, I mean.”

He wondered if Roy remembered the first time he’d called him by name.

“It’s just us here,” he concluded. “Just us.”

Roy looked him over, calculating like he always did. Roy was smart. Brilliant really. Didn’t bother Havoc a bit, because he was surrounded by people smarter than he was.

But being smart wasn’t everything. 

Roy nodded finally, and put his hand back on Havoc’s chest. He looked down again though. Not at either of them. Not at anything in the room, if Havoc was right. 

Jean took a chance and laid his hand atop the one on his chest, pressing gently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. 

Roy glanced at him, then nodded, sighing deeply before turning to lie back against him. Havoc chuckled at the elbow that pushed him back so that Roy could have more room, and then got settled, one arm wrapping around his stomach as the other began to talk.

It was precious, this trust.

He followed his leader, would follow him anywhere.

But in truth, Havoc found, he loved the man.

Loved the way that the hand that could snap flame into life could also wrap around his one, till their fingers were intertwined here, holding Roy here in the present as his words unwrapped memories.

He wasn’t sure what that meant. Didn’t have the words, or the definitions. He wasn’t smart enough for that.

It didn’t matter anyways.

He could just be here, and be here for his Colonel, whatever he might need.


End file.
